May I Have This Dance?
by less-hebraic-more-fabrayic
Summary: AU Fabrevans! It's 1950 and the Fabray family are the highest, most respected 'Upper' family. Anna and Russell are in the midst of planning their daughters marriage, and all of a sudden she runs into 'Lower' farm boy, Sam Evans. Will forbidden love stem?


_**Please read this before you read the fic!**_

_**This may be a little complicated to understand. Instead, this is an AU thing, it's the future but it's the 50s era. Swing dances, poodle skirts, pin curls and self respect. BUT, the rich high-standard people are called Uppers and poor people are called Lowers. Uppers and lowers aren't supposed to mix, like the Montagues and the Capulets – I suppose that's the only way to put it. Enjoy.**_

_**CHAPTER ONE: MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?**_

Quinn Fabray's family were always in control. It's a normal thing for a generic teenage girl to say, right? Girls in high school gossiping at lockers over how their mothers still insisted on making their lunch before school, invasions of privacy when they walk into their bedrooms without knocking first, even when they write on your Facebook wall.

Well, at least they weren't trying to pick their daughter's boyfriends.

The Friday Night Swings were the worst. It wasn't the excessive amounts of poodle skirts or pin curls that bothered Quinn, she too prided herself on her wonderful looks and seemingly magical ability to turn every man's – and their girl's – heads when she walked in the hall.

What bothered Quinn was the way her parents would drag her around and introduce her to different Upper men, each one kissed her on the hand and paid her a compliment. Friday Night Swings were more like Friday Night Meet-Strangers-Who-Your-Parents-Will-Probably-Plan-Your-Marriage-With.

Most of them were charming, and Quinn was always polite, but she was _sixteen_... She didn't want to be picking and choosing husbands. All she wanted was to have a good time, no matter how cliché it sounded, and no matter how much the other girls envied Quinn for what her parents did for her.

The rest of the Upper parents found it more difficult to find appropriate husbands for their daughters. Mostly because every Upper and probably most of the Lower men could never take their eyes off of Quinn. They would be walking the streets and listening to their girlfriend's or wives talk, and suddenly their eyes would follow Quinn.

–

It was a warm Friday afternoon when Quinn skipped in through the back door of her family's kitchen, a fresh basket filled with bread and croissants from the local baker, who adored Quinn. People who ran small family businesses were considered Lowers, even though they had almost enough money to be an Upper. This was because they provided Uppers with their food and furniture and general everything. It wasn't common to be friends with them.

Quinn didn't see it that way. She never saw it that way. She was always friendly with everybody. That's why everybody loved and loathed Quinn. She hummed as she entered the kitchen, blue dress swaying, and saw her mother and father sat at the top of the dining table; hands clasped tightly in each of their laps and lips pursed.

"Quinny," her mother started, looking as if she were in pain at having this conversation one hundred times before. "Quinny, darling, you were in town today..." She seemed to wince and her husband rolled his eyes. "I know I was in town, mother," Quinn said, smiling. "I've just come back, look what th-" She was cut off by her father. "Quinn!" He said, breathlessly.

"You can't keep doing this, Quinn. You interacted with _three Lowers_ and refused a date with _Charles McDonald_! Do you know what this is doing to our family, Quinn? You cannot do this!"

Quinn didn't argue back, instead she left the basket of bread on the table and listened to her father's angry rant until he finished by banging his fist on the table. "Are you done?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do not-" Her father started, lost for words and going purple in the face.

"Quinny, dear, your father and I have talked it over.. Tomorrow night at the Friday Night Swing you will meet all of the potential husbands we introduce you to, and you will be polite and ladylike. No skipping out of this, missy! I've had Peggy send Alice over for the night, she'll be making you a dress. Don't let her sleep, Quinn, we're paying her twice the usual! Now, you may go upstairs and see Alice."

–

Quinn didn't let her fury show, it wasn't ladylike, although she called her mother a horrifyingly disrespectful word inside her head. Alice, as promised, was sat bolt upright with a plastic grin on her face when Quinn opened the door. "Relax, Alice. It's me." Alice sighed. She was used to being mentally scathed by Quinn's mother.

"I'm sorry your parents are being so awful, Quinn," Alice said. "You heard all that?" Quinn said, looking worried. Alice nodded. "I don't mean to listen in, Quinn, but the walls in this house are paper thin. Forgive me." "It's all right, Alice. How's your mother?"

Peggy, Alice's mother, was a personal tailor to all of the Uppers. She was famous in their town for being the only businesswoman who was considered an Upper. She'd never tailored to any Lowers, and even if she wanted to they would never be able to afford her prices. Alice was just sixteen, like Quinn, and they had been friends since they were five.

"She's fine," Alice said. "Colours?"

"Colours?"

"For your dress."

–

The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the open curtains and Quinn winced as she awoke. She rubbed her eyes, yawning and stretching. The noise of a sewing machine in the corner made her open her eyes, and Alice sat on a stool, red-eyed and staring intently at the beautiful aqua dress she had clearly worked on all night.

Quinn noticed the small cuts and blisters on Alice's fingers and gasped. "Alice! Your.. Your hands. I told you to sleep and I would lie to my mother."

"Really, Quinn, it's fine. I wanted to make it perfect."

"I.."

"Try it on." Alice insisted.

–

It truly was beautiful. She looked like a movie star, a real princess. She smiled and thanked Alice, letting her go home. But she didn't feel _right_. She wasn't wearing it to be treated like a princess. She was wearing it to dance with a ridiculous number of men who smelled too much like scotch and who argued over who was more fitting to marry her by how much money they have.

She didn't want to be bought and sold, pushed around to dance and socialise and be leered at. She wanted what every girl wanted, to be treated like royalty, with romance and true love.

That was likely.

–

Her parents have to drag her out of the car, with threats about not being able to go to town on her daily adventures and walks, exploring the small city and talking to, God forbid, Lowers. She would do what she always did, climb down from her window and skip into town anyway. Anna and Russell Fabray never even noticed their daughter was gone. As long as they made contact with her when the family had breakfast and when they tucked her in at night, they assumed she would be fine.

That was probably where her sense of ambition and determination came from. She knew exactly who she wanted to be, and she'd always had the freedom to work it out. Not like the girls who were brainwashed into the harsh Upper Lower system. No, Quinn would never be like that.

She walked in behind her mother and father, who were greeted vigorously by almost every other respectable family in the room. She hovered, feeling sick at how she'd have to face hours and hours of this.

"Quinny, go and get yourself some punch and a sandwich, honey," Anna said, patting Quinn on the back and shoving her lightly towards the room that led out of the dance hall. It was a small, brightly-lit room laden with tables that contained food and punch bowls.

Quinn entered the room, closed the door behind her and leaned back on it to breath out a sigh. She could have sworn she was alone. "I'm awfully sorry, ma'am," a voice said. Quinn jumped, turning around to look in the corner.

A blonde, muscular boy was laying out sandwiches on a far table, smiling a lopsided, apologetic grin. He was dressed in the scruffy clothes of a Lower, clearly handed down to him, and his shirt was worn in places; patches being sewn over the tears and rips.

"That's quite all right," Quinn said, shakily, straightening out her dress. "I didn't know anybody was in here, is all." He smiled. "I'm Quinn Fabray," she said, stepping forward. "I know who you are," he said, laughing. "But all the same it's nice to meet you, Miss Fabray." He bowed slightly. "I'm Sam Evans, at your service Miss Fabray."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "My service?" Sam pointed to the table, still grinning. "Serving food and drink, ma'am." Quinn nodded. Music blared in through the door, the dance the couples had.

Sam stepped forward, bent low in a respectful bow. "May I have this dance, Miss?" He asked, holding his hand out. Quinn couldn't have blushed deeper. She nodded, taking his hand. He pulled her forward, one hand on her waist and one on her hand. They danced for about five minutes until Sam spoke.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind my asking, why would a beautiful respectful lady like you be doing in this room, dancing with a servant Lower? You could be out there with ten men on your arm, yet you're in here dancing with me. Why is that?"

"Maybe I'm not the girl everyone thinks I am, Sam Evans." Quinn whispered. There was a brief moment where the two of them leaned in close, and Quinn had a rush of adrenaline, she was about to be kis- "Quinn! Quinny, darling? Are you in there?" The voice of Anna Fabray rang in through the door and Quinn and Sam jumped apart, resuming natural-looking positions on opposite sides of the room.

Anna gave Sam a scathing look, as if he were dirt on her shoe, and put her arm around Quinn. "Now, come on, dear. We have a lovely young gentleman out there by the name of Finn Hudson, your father is beside himself, he thinks this could be the young boy for you to marry! And he would like to get to know you. Come on, now!"

Quinn had a fleeting moment of madness and an urge to run back. She turned to her mother. "Oh, I forgot my punch! I'll catch you up, you go on without me." Her mother shuffled away, and Quinn ran back into the room. Sam was smiling as if he knew she'd come back.

"Meet me at midnight," she said, in between finding a plastic cup and pouring herself a drink. "Do you have any paper? I'll give you my address -" Sam interrupted. "I know where you live, Miss. Everybody knows the mansion on the hill is the Fabray house."

Quinn rolled her eyes. As if she didn't hear enough of that from everybody else. "Well, my parents will be very drunk when we get home, and they'll go straight to bed. I'll leave the front gates unlocked, they won't notice. Be in the farmland behind the house at midnight, there's an old barn there, it's empty." She turned to spare him one more glance before she left.

"And, Sam Evans?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Call me Quinn."

_This took longer than I expected to write the first part. It's a little confusing even for me._

_Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated! I'm very grateful for everyone who reads and comments on my stories._

_3_


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